


bee's knees and cat's pajamas

by zeitgeistofnow



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/F, M/M, and doug does a radio show, and slang!!, but flappers!!, dude i'm like obsessed with 20s aus it's awful, i'm a sucker for the nickname 'doll', kepler's a gangster, lovelace has a speakeasy that's supplied by kepler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 19:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13173318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: "New York is loud and busy and full of unsavory people, and Eiffel loves it." One of those people- a man with a peacock headache band who introduced himself as Jacobi- has a lot more to him than a peacock feather. Doug has no intent to discover any of that depth, but... life doesn't always go how you plan it.





	bee's knees and cat's pajamas

New York is loud and busy and full of unsavory people, and Eiffel  _ loves  _ it. It’s so different from where his old place- louder and busier and full of more unsavory people. 

Even the radio station he’s working at is wildly different: there’s a pretty flapper working at the secretary, not old Mrs. McGuffin with her rock hard fruitcakes and pale pink lipstick, and the stage is shinier, with newer microphones and more risque content. He’s not doing a show yet, just checking out the scene, and from what he’s seen so far, it seems  _ pretty  _ swell. 

He’s whistling a tune when he heads out: being employed at W359 has the added benefit of being able to stop into live shows for a while, and he couldn’t resist a showing of some new singer. 

He was staying with a friend of a friend- Renee Minkowski- in a flat a few streets away from the radio station. It’s a pretty ritzy place, with chandeliers in the lobby and tenants who wear necklaces that cost more than Eiffel’s mom made in a year. 

He’d joked to Renee about how he’s getting the ‘swankiest New York experience’, and she had rolled her eyes and asked him politely when he was planning on heading out. He had responded, out of almost pure spite, that he was planning on going to her show, and when did it start?

So he’s headed to the Hephaestus, a speakeasy a few streets away in the other direction.

It doesn’t take that long for him to get there, and it’s not that hard to find it: loud music and loud talking exclude from the building. It’s good music, Eiffel notes with some surprise: he had expected a stricter take on jazz, considering who Minkowski is, but it sounds loose and… good.

He walks in and buys a drink: he’s not really sure what he’s buying, and he knows that he shouldn’t be drinking, but he wants to enjoy his first day out in New York.  _ New York.  _

Eiffel claims a table by the stage: the tables are circular and wooden, and the chairs are hard and a different, darker wood, and there’s a suspicious stain on the far end of the table. He hazards a sip of his drink: it’s sour and bitter, but okay. He puts it back on the table and looks up at Minkowski.

She’s playing the upright bass with a pianist, and they’re taking turns singing. It’s soft and low and breathy, but it’s not quite dancing music. It’s music that you listen to on you seven month anniversary with your sheik, not three minutes after you meet a cute doll and want to dance. Not quite suited for the Hephaestus. Eiffel catches Minkowski’s glance and she smiles at him, then looks back at something over his head and a few yards back. 

Someone slides into the seat next to Eiffel. “Not exactly dancing music, is it?”

Eiffel doesn’t look away from the stage. “Not exactly, no.”

“It’s good, though.”

Eiffel shrugs, turning in his seat. “Pretty good.”

“Are one of those birds yours?” The fella’s wearing a headache band- the peacock feather flopping in his eyes- and a matching vest over pinstripe shirt. There’s a thin glass balanced in his left hand. 

“Me?” Eiffel chokes out a laugh. He hasn’t known Minkowski for long, but he’s known her long enough that the idea of her ‘being’ anyone’s is ridiculous. “Nah.”

The man scoots closer to Eiffel. The liquid in his glass sloshes onto the table. “You got anyone?”

“No, actually.”

He screws up his face. “No one? What’re you listening to this music for? Bit… romantic for someone without a sheba.”

“What’re you listening to it for?” Eiffel retorts.

The man chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. “I’m goofy for someone, and a tad zozzled,” he says. 

Eiffel nods, glancing at the man’s drink.

“ _ Jacobi! _ ” Stomping, and a slam as the chair the man’s sitting is pulled away from the table. 

“Maxwell!” Jacobi looks up at her.

The woman standing above Jacobi is short- she’s barely taller than him, even when he’s sitting down, and she’s wearing a cloche hat and a vest that’s a bit more conservative than Jacobi’s. Her glass is stouter than his and almost empty. 

Eiffel smiles gratefully at her and she smiles tightly back and returns her attention to Jacobi. “Kepler’s looking for you,” she says quietly. “He’s… upset.”

Jacobi raises an eyebrow. “Kepler? Upset? Darling, say it ain’t so.”

“You’re ossified, aren’t you?”

“A bit.” Jacobi stands up and straightens his vest. “Where’s Kepler? I’m sure I can get him to calm down, Maxwell.”

Maxwell grinds her teeth. “I was telling you so that you’d stay away from him.”

Jacobi leans down to kiss her on the cheek. “Never been too good at that, doll.”

Eiffel waves goodbye to Jacobi, who winks. Maxwell shakes his hand and she and Jacobi walk off. 

Eiffel takes another drink of his hooch. Minkowski and her partner are just finishing up. The pianist plays a final note, and they start to pack up. 

Eiffel bounds over to her, leaving his glass on the table. “Renee! That was…”

Minkowski, leaning against the bar, looks at him curiously. “Eiffel?”

“That was really cool! I didn’t know you played a giant violin!”

The woman behind the bar laughs, and Minkowski spares Eiffel an exasperated smile. “It’s called a bass, Eiffel.”

Eiffel shrugs. 

“Who was that guy talking to you?” the bartender asks, swiping back a curl of dark hair. 

“Who?” Renee frowns. 

“The one all dressed up in his glad rags? Peacock feather?” the bartender mimes sweeping a feather over her head. 

Eiffel shrugs again. “Said his name was Jacobi. Was a bit fried.”

Renee looks intrigued. “Jacobi? Sound familiar. Lovelace?”

The bartender shrugs. “Never been much for names.” She puts down the cup she was polishing and leans her elbow on the counter. “Why’d he drift?”

Eiffel gestures. “Short lady. Fella named Kepler was upset. Peacock feather fella left.”

Renee leans backward and groans. “ _ That  _ Jacobi.”

Lovelace chuckles. Eiffel frowns. 

“Eiffel, you just met Kepler’s moll,” Renee says, sipping from her glass.

Eiffel blinks. “Kepler? Moll?”

“His fellow? Sheik? Beau?” Lovelace looks expectantly. “I’ve got euphemisms to go around, Eiffel.”

“Who’s Kepler?”

“Only one of the biggest mobsters around here,” Renee says, “And you just went and flirted with his sheik.”

Eiffel holds up a hand in protest. “There was no flirting involved.”

“Sure, Romeo.” Lovelace smirks. 

Minkowski laughs and picks up her bass, hefting it over her shoulder. “C’mon, Eiffel. Let’s get back.”

 

Eiffel’s got his first day of work the next day, and he’s determined not to fuck it up. 

“Good morning, Goddard Radio Corp!” he sang, once when he opened the door, startling the secretary and the man she was talking with, once when he got into the office, and once when he finally got on air. Now he’s been onstage for 47 minutes, and he’s only one more song.

“And thank you to all of you dear listeners out there, turning into W359 for your daily classical music!” Eiffel smiles out at the scraggly audience that came in to watch his first show. He can’t blame them. He hasn’t listened to classical music in years. “Here we have Beethoven's Five Secrets, played by our own Mister Klein!”

Klein starts playing on his cello and Eiffel tunes out.  _ Classics.  _ He was under the impression that he’d be able to have people on the show! And talk! And make jokes! But no, he’s playing classical music for upperclass snobs who want to impress their dolls with how refined they are. 

Before he’d started the show, he’d talked to his boss- Marcus Cutter- about how he could make the show his own, and he had gotten a long and winding talk about how the classics are disappearing and Goddard Radio was doing it’s best to not let them and other stuff that basically all boiled down to ‘You can’t change anything, Eiffel, it’s my show and you’re just an uncultured nobody from Kansas’. 

Eiffel, of course, was going to completely disregard everything Cutter had said and do what he wanted with the show- as soon as he got what he needed, which was a few competent musicians. 

Easier said than done.

“Great song! Thank you, Klein, you really know how to use that giant violin- cello, sorry.” Eiffel beams at the audience and gestures for Klein to leave. “The only way that performance could have been better is if you had been wearing Prism Incorporated eyeshadow, like me-”

Klein pauses halfway through packing up his instrument and barks out a laugh. “Says you! That was a perfect performance.”

Half the audience laughs and Eiffel crosses his fingers that this works. If he incorporates sponsor messages with talking to people, maybe he’ll he able to talk to more people. “Oh! Were you wearing Prism Incorporated eyeshadow?” He hates this.

“I was, Doug!” Klein flashes a smile at the audience and closes one eye, revealing dark gray eyeshadow. 

“Well, then, I stand corrected. That was the best performance I’ve seen yet!”

Klein grins. “It’s only your first day, old boy. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“I suppose it is! And I’ll see all of you tomorrow for my second!” Eiffel fits his microphone back into its holder. “Stay tuned for Ms. Hera’s show, up next!”

Klein bows and slings his cello case over his shoulder, and the two of them walk off stage. Klein sighs once they’re out of sight. “This eyeshadow itches.”


End file.
